skyrimkinkmeme | Meme Announcements!

Meme Announcements!

ANNOUNCEMENTS: UPDATED 12/16/2017

Happy Holidays, fellow Kinkmemers! I have returned and have no reasonable excuse for my absence except LIFE. I will be working on updating the archives. If anyone sees anything amiss, please let me know.

I am also hoping to find another Mod and an Archivist.

The more dedicated people we have in this Meme the less chance of it dying. I admit that being the sole keeper of the Meme is not great for the fandom. If something were to happen to me, for good, this place would go the way of the Fallout Kink Meme. Let's not let that happen! If anyone would be interested in Modding/Archiving, please drop me a line. Thanks! <3

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

I came here from the future to tell you that was really hot. Good job, anon.

Just stumbled on this...Moar please! Ahagaaaad...

Does A!A live?
I need more, read the whole thing in a day.
(who needs sleep when you have great fics to read? Amiright?)

I live - more or less, lol. Lots of work irl keeping me busy. The next chapter is 95% done, I just need time to finish editting it. Very amazed you read it in one shot!

Warning! Some brief, but graphic depictions of violence in this chapter.

Therion’s eyes snapped open.

Throwing back his head, he gasped in a great, long breath, chest heaving, as though he were a drowning man surfacing for air. Violent shivers ran through his body, numb and cold as ice. Limply, his head fell forward, causing his gold hair to fall across his blurred vision of the dimly lit, stonework floor.

Staring wretchedly down at the dimply lit, stonework floor, he saw a dark puddle dripping beside his boot. Squinting down at himself, he found the left half of his chest bleeding.

Miserably exhausted and beyond caring, he sighed, letting his eyes slide half shut, shaking and drawing in labored breaths.

He flinched as a gold hand touched his chest, applying pressure to his stab wound.

Brilliant rays of light swirled around their fingers, flowing into his body, the spell bright as the sun.

Gradually, his shivering subsided, the magic breathing life and warmth back into his disturbingly cold body.

“Good to have you back among the living,” a familiar voice said. Chuckling they added, “I’m afraid my agent was over zealous. Chest wounds are all but impossible to heal. But then, we’ve done this once already, haven’t we, Thrynn?”

The Dragonborn tensed, a chill running up his spine.

-----------------------

“Thrynn! Can you hear me?!”

He blinked, eyes cracking open to sunlight. No, not the sun, he realized. Healing light. So bright, it made his eyes ache.

“Radac…?” he groaned, looking up at the Ascendant’s sharp, gold eyes, a stark contrast as ever to his black hair and red robes. “The Beautiful!” he shouted, suddenly coming to and sitting up. The extremists were getting away.

Sharp pain exploded in his chest.

“The others are pursuing them,” Radac assured him, applying pressure to his chest wound. “This needs attention.”

“How did they get into the Crystal Palace,” he muttered, as Radac helped him up. Thrynn sheathed the sword lying beside him, hesitating as Radac tried to support his weight. “Your robes-” he began, swaying unsteadily as he looked down at his armor, slick with blood.

“Are already red,” Radac interrupted with a frown, placing Thrynn's arm around his neck. “I’m much more concerned for you.”

Thrynn looked out through the decimated wall of the library at the city below as he walked along with Radac, clutching his chest. Within, he gazed sadly over the section of burnt books, still smoldering. The dead bodies of The Beautiful lying beside them brought him no satisfaction for the lost knowledge.

“It could have been a great deal worse, all things considered,” Radac said, trying to console him. “They had daedric relics of some sort, allowing them to teleport at will - never staying still for more than a moment. That you killed so many of them…” he made a sound of deep approval. “It was quite a sight.”

Thrynn managed to open the door to Radac’s chamber for him.

“Skill with a blade is prerequisite for my post,” he said humbly. Sighing, he added, “As is knowing these sorts of things in advance.”

Radac set him down in a chair.

“Not even you could have known they would do this,” he said, rummaging through elegantly carved shelves containing numerous crystal bottles. “Don’t hold yourself accountable; I do not.”

Thrynn looked down at his hands, his frustration not deterred in the slightest.

“I suppose if a mer is going to be mortally wounded,” Thrynn said, trying to muster a cheerful smile, “there’s nowhere better than in front of Nirn’s most powerful restoration mage.”

“I would rather be remembered for my alchemy,” Radac said disdainfully, handing him a potion. “I was born a powerful mage. My alchemy took countless centuries of study and application to hone.”

Thrynn scoffed as he drank.

“You don’t look over three centuries, at most.”
It was not idle flattery; Radac looked young and handsome despite his age, which was presumably advanced. No one was exactly certain how long he had been the leader of the Thalmor for, but it had been since before Ondolemar had been born at least; and he was approaching his four hundredth year.

“Looks can be deceiving,” Radac said with a dark smile. “Restoration magic has many benefits.”

Glancing toward the door, he waved a hand in its direction, shutting it with telekinesis before he continued.

“Namely…” he said in a hushed voice. "Immortality."

Thrynn shivered as Radac reached his hand out once more. Had he shut the door for the privacy of their conversation or did he have something else in mind? To his relief, Radac resumed healing his aching chest.

“Immortality,” Thrynn replied thoughtfully. “In that case, you look very good for your age,” he smirked, looking him over. “Whatever it is.”

A frown quickly formed on his lips.

Why was he flirting with the Ascendant?

Radac was certainly in one of his rare moments.

At times like these, Thrynn could almost forget the disgusting things he knew about the mer. That someone so devoted to butchering others, persecuting his people, and dragging the honor of their race and country through the mud, could have an interesting - attractive even - personality… it disturbed him almost as much as the rest.

Thrynn's highest priority was eradicating the Thalmor, inside out. Ondolemar was working his way up through their structure of Justicars after some urging, while he and the other members of the Laloria Malatar secured positions throughout the rest of the country to make way for revolt; a few more years and they should overthrow the Thalmor completely.

The group of spies had returned from the Great War to find the Thalmor seeped into the country like a rot, taking advantage of their beloved homeland laying in shambles from war. The Aldmeri Dominion was little more than a puppet these days, and Alinor was reduced to a husk of its former grandeur. Mer everywhere were living in fear, persecution, or willful ignorance.

“It’s lonely,” Radac said, interrupting his thoughts. “Immortality. It is obviously a gift, but it can also be maddening,” he added with a weary sigh, finishing the healing spell, but remaining enticingly close. “Once, in a great while, I find someone who makes the passing of years more pleasant.”

Thrynn looked at him with conflicted feelings, wanting to comfort him. The Ascendant's dark, intelligent eyes made his stomach twist.

Uncertainty gnawed at him.

Focusing, he thought of the Nord prisoner in the dungeon. A Talos worshipper, and Radac’s regular source of entertainment. He spent many evenings torturing and healing the poor man.

Despite the gruesome image, Thrynn felt the urge to stand up and draw Radac close.

Quick as lightning, deliberately giving himself no time to think, Thrynn stabbed the Ascendant in the chest and slit his throat, bolting for the door.

A shout escaped his throat as he was slammed off of his feet and flattened against the floor by an invisible force. Air knocked out of his lungs, he gasped for air, chest pinned beneath an unseen barrier.

Radac gingerly touched the skin of his throat.

Thrynn watched the wound close itself, blood drawing back into his skin, leaving no trace.

Radac grinned wickedly down at Thrynn, struggling beneath his ward on the floor.

“That’s why I like you - how many mer would follow their gut and stab their Ascendant?” he said approvingly. “You couldn’t have known The Beautiful were going to attack. I gave them the means. No, you’re far too clever to drink a potion from me - even a wine glass - under normal circumstances. So cautious,” he smirked, kneeling down and caressing his cheek.

Thrynn glared murderously up at him as he leaned closer.

“I would have you as my ally," he said, tracing a line along his face as he lifted his chin, forcing him to meet his gaze. "But I'd rather you as a lover. A trusted confidant. There's so much work a clever mer like you can accomplish for me."

Thrynn, unable to speak beneath his magic, replied by deftly removing a dagger from his sleeve with one hand and quickly burying it deep within Radac's closest eye.

Surprised, the Ascendant’s ward faltered momentarily.
Thrynn, pressing his advantage, leapt to his feet, pulling his sword free in one fluid motion. Carving through Radac’s chest in quick thrusts, he removed his still beating heart.

What he heard filled him with cold dread; the sound of Radac’s amused laughter. In desperation, he separated the Ascendant’s head from his body in one swift move. The mer’s heart and decapitated head dissolved into blood before reforming wholly once more on Radac’s body, perfect and unmarred.

Thrynn involuntarily dropped his sword as he was crushed beneath another ward spell, this time forcefully trapping him against the wall.

"I know you don't love me," Radac said affectionately, walking over to him. He gently ran a thumb across Thrynn's lips, cupping the back of his neck. The mer jerked his head away. Smirking, Radac patiently stood back. "Not yet, at least. Give my potion time to do its work. Don't worry," he added with a predatory grin. "I won't do anything you don't ask me to."

-----------------------

“I’ve missed you, Thrynn,” Radac said fondly. “You were the assassin’s assassin. Literally. The way you took care of all those little problems. Discrete. Efficient. And talented in so many other ways,” he added with an evil grin.

The Dragonborn slowly raised his head, staring up with cold, calculating eyes at Radac.

“I should introduce you both. This is my Spymaster, Verandis. Your replacement,” he said, sweeping a hand toward a smirking mer, hovering behind Radac like a shadow. “Not that anyone could replace you, Thrynn,” he added affectionately, voice tinged with nostalgia, to Verandis’ clear displeasure. “Come, say something,” he urged with eager curiosity. “It’s been years.”

Therion’s amber eyes flickered momentarily to the snidely glaring Verandis and then back to Radac.

"You’re right,” the Dragonborn said, a slow, cocky smile spreading across his face. “He's no replacement for me.”

Therion sliced the rest of his way through his ropes, unleashing the full force of his thu’um with a thunderous FUS RO DAH!, while throwing his hidden obsidian dagger between Verandis’ eyes. Several Thalmor soldiers at the edge of the raised platform screamed as his voice crashed into them, knocking them to their deaths. The remaining mer charged forward with wide eyes, drawing their weapons.

Therion lunged, grabbing hold of the staggered Radac, using his ropes to bind the mer's hands from spell casting.

Sensing movement over his shoulder, he spun, using the Ascendant as a shield.

Elenwen’s invisibility dropped as she struck forward with a familiar glowing, black daedric weapon. Shock colored her face as she stabbed the wrong mer.

Before she could retreat back and withdraw her weapon, Therion threw Radac aside. The Ascendant lay still, apparently rendered unconscious by the blade. Ducking low to avoid her hastily cast fire spell, Therion grasped her outstretched arm.

Circling around, he was poised to snap her neck when something struck him, stopping him short with one hand at her shoulder and another on her head.

A familiar roar of air greeted his ears, as something deep within him responded to the pull of magical forces. It was, at first, exactly like slaying a dragon.

Except something was wrong.

The wind had always been white, hadn’t it…? This wind was blue.

And then he felt a staggering pull, wrenching him apart.

-----------------------

Radac opened his eyes, looking up at the shrouded face of the Thalmor Archmage as the wizard slid the black dagger from his shoulder. He sat up as the mer diligently sliced apart the ropes binding his wrists. Nodding his thanks, he rose easily to his feet, immortal body unphased by the deathlike embrace of the daedric enchantment.

Looking around the pavilion, he took stock of what he had missed while unconscious. At the middle of the platform was a sea of chaos, doubtless at the center of which was the Dragonborn. In his absence, the mages had evoked the Dwemer artifact, Silgahrot. The blue etherium crystal shone brightly, hovering between five Thalmor mages.

He barely caught sight of the Dragonborn in the midst of the soldiers, wearing nothing more than a pair of black trousers. His armor had apparently been stripped off and thrown away as a precaution against more hidden, obsidian weapons.

Radac spared an apathetic glance at his late Spymaster.

Verandis had removed numerous iron daggers from their prisoner, dragging a lodestone thoroughly across his armor. Completely missing the more carefully hidden non-metallic, volcanic glass.

The Dragonborn had been right.

Verandis was - or had been - a poor Spymaster comparatively.

"How many dragons has he killed?" one of the mages asked incredulously, staring at Therion. Numerous orbs of light shone beneath the Dragonborn's skin, made pale and ethereal beneath the blue glow of the Dwemer artifact.

Radac stared in fascination, for what felt like the first time in centuries.

Therion’s entire body brimmed with the radiance of countless, luminous souls contained within him, like constellations of stars - all impossibly trapped within one, mortal vessel.

Radac shook his head, composing himself as he looked away from the dazzling sight.

Therion struggled, restrained against the central stone pillar by every soldier present, the gold armored mer holding him fast as the mages siphoned his essence into Silgahrot. Blue wind roared from him to the crystal, whirling with tremendous speed.

In the midst of the pandemonium, Radac saw between the windswept mages' robes and shuffling soldiers in elven armor, catching a clear sight of Therion for the first time.

One of the soldiers had a gauntleted hand mercilessly clamped over his mouth, wary of the Dragonborn’s voice.

Though he could not cry out, Therion's agony was evident. Writhing, he twisted violently in their grasp, face contorted with pain.

Radac narrowed his eyes, gold magicka flaring to life and encircling his fingertips. Squeezing his hand into a tight fist, an aura of gold light burst forth, the expanding ring knocking everyone to the ground in its path.

Silgahrot fell on the stones, landing with an ominous knell, the blue crystal rolling to a stop beside Therion. Three globes of light drifted within the artifact, as a fourth pulsed, still forming. Without the mages fueling it, Silgahrot siphoned its power more slowly, the blue wind settling down to a soft breeze. Therion lay still beside it, body jerking at odd intervals under its drain.

Radac knelt down, looking with concern at his pallid, bare skin, covered in a sheen of sweat.

“So,” Therion said listlessly. “This is what you wanted me for. My dragon souls.”

Radac pressed his lips together in a tight line.

“I scarcely believed that the ‘Dragonborn’ was anything but Nord nonsense. Let alone that it would be you,” he said, still disbelieving. With a small smile he added, “You know, some even think you’re Tiber Septim, reincarnated.”

Therion chuckled wearily despite himself.

"So I've heard."

Radac looked down at him, taking in the deep scars of his chest for the first time.

“Head Justicar Ondolemar’s interrogation,” he said, tracing the jagged lines, his eyes clouded.

“A diligent mer, that one,” Therion said, gritting his teeth against the pain of the crystal. “Takes his work a bit too seriously, if you ask me. He seemed to find me ‘insufferable’, though I quite liked him. Really, he deserves a promotion, Radac. Tell him it’s from me. I would pay to see the look on his face.”

Abruptly his muscles tightened and he clenched his teeth, stricken by a violent wave of pain. Closing his eyes, he shook in a frightening display.

“I derive no pleasure from this, Thrynn,” Radac said softly, channeling healing magic across his temples with each hand.

“That makes two of us,” Therion replied as soon as he caught his breath.

Radac shook his head.

"I've missed your wit."

"Then renounce my exile," Therion murmured, trying to adjust between the painful crystal and the numbing magic.

Radac snorted lightly.

"You're far too dangerous."

Therion cracked open his amber eyes to regard him.

"Me?" he asked sounding wounded and surprised. "I'm harmless. What have I ever done?"

Radac tried to not find him amusing.

"Half of my soldiers just fell to their deaths from the sole use of your voice, Thrynn."

"I've always thought these ruins needed guardrails. Very unsafe - perhaps that's why the Dwemer disappeared," he said, wearily closing his eyes once more.

"You murdered my Spymaster. Despite being tied to a column," Radac pointed out.

Therion grinned.

"That was rather impressive of me, wasn’t it?"

"Or," Radac continued brusquely, "That business back in Alinor. When you broke free of my potion and incited a riot which nearly lead to a revolution."

"Nearly, but not quite. Not my best revolution, it’s been a constant source of disappointment," Therion said with a sigh. "I really expected more from myself. But alas, the Thalmor’s influence was too hard for one lone mer to break."

"Lone mer indeed," Radac said disdainfully. "I never found out who helped you; especially who forced you into drinking an antidote to my potion."

"Thank Talos for small favors," Therion replied cheekily, giving him a galling smile.

Radac ignored his gibe, not rising to the taunt.

"Give me a name and I'll renounce your exile."

Therion made a small scoffing sound.

"Even if I believed you - no."

Radac chuckled.

"Loyal to the death. I've missed that as well." For a moment his gold eyes clouded with nostalgia. "You were loyal to me once."

"I was never loyal to you, Radac," Therion corrected. Inwardly, he kept searching for his thu'um, but the crystal separated it from his voice, suppressing his ability to shout.

"Thrynn..." Radac began thoughtfully. With a sigh, he changed topics. "You've changed your name, I'm told. I don't care for it."

"Good," Therion replied tersely with satisfaction.

"And you became the folk hero of the Nord race since I saw you last as well. How did you, an Altmer of all things, come to be this ‘Dragonborn’?" he asked curiously.

Therion tilted his head in a gesture of mock thoughtfulness, and Radac knew at once he would loath his reply.

"Talos works in mysterious ways."

Exhaling sharply, Radac gave him severe look.

"I'm beginning to remember why I exiled you."

"No,” Therion said, cracking his eyes open. “If I had the strength to break your nose and remove every one of your organs in random order, then you would remember why you banished me. My mocking you enjoy, because everyone fears you. No one else stands up to you. Well… no one else with my wit, charm, and a full-scale assault on the capital city,” he added.

“Your humility… that’s not something I’ve missed, if you were curious.”

“Please,” Therion said. “That was me being humble. Go on. Revoke my exile. We could chat every occasion I try to kill you. How dangerous can I be? You're immortal.”

“How well you know it,” Radac said, giving him an irksome look. “No one's ever put it to the test quite like you…”

Therion chuckled weakly.

“At least I can correct anyone who claims you have no heart,” Therion said. “Physically, at least.”

Radac reached over, picking up the crystal artifact. Turning it in his hand, he thoughtfully inspected its soft, blue light; the same radiance reflected beneath Therion's skin, mirroring its ebbs and flows, brighter the closer it came to his body.

"The Nords call it Silgahrot. Do you know what that means?” he asked, curiously pressing the crystal against Therion’s chest. “Of course you do, you speak Dragon."

Therion groaned, the pull of the crystal made worse by proximity.

"Soul stealer," he muttered.

Radac nodded.

"Legend tells of a jealous jarl. Outraged when a Dragonborn appeared in Skyrim, not of the Nord race. A familiar tale, in that regard; though this one was Khajiit. The story goes that the treacherous jarl met with the Dwemer, forging an alliance. Together they created a weapon - a crystal capable of trapping dragon souls as effectively as a Dragonborn. But more to the point... Capable of taking their ability - their shout - away. The jarl stole their soul, and with it, their voice. With the Dragonborn’s powerful ‘thu’um’ he subdued the dragon, Numinex. Keeping it prisoner in his keep, thereupon called ‘Dragonsreach’, until the beast went mad."

"Well," Therion said dryly. "I feel better about helping the Bard’s College bring back those weekly effigy burnings of Olaf One-Eye now. The lute lessons weren’t a complete waste afterall."

“I could steal your voice,” Radac said thoughtfully, ignoring him. “However, I have a recent opening for a new Spymaster. You could accept that the Thalmor are good for our society and forget crusading for the lesser races. Return to Alinor with me. Free from exile,” he added, watching Therion’s expression become alert before turning swiftly skeptical. “You were happy with me, once,” Radac added, reaching out to touch his face.

"I was as happy as I was loyal,” Therion replied, avoiding his hand. “You get drunk on power, Radac. Nasty habit.”

“Ah, yes. And remind me again how many organizations and plots you are the very center of?” Radac asked knowingly.

“That's different. Being the center of plots is my hobby. Like painting. Or learning the language of a race of flying, fire-breathing lizards brought back from the dead by the harbinger of the apocalypse. Of the three, I'm significantly better at one than the others. And it's not painting.”

Radac stared at him in open curiosity.

“What in Oblivion have you been doing in this godsforsaken country?”

“To be honest?’ he asked, his bare chest shivering. “Freezing to death, mostly. You just had to choose Skyrim to start your scheme, didn’t you? You couldn’t have chosen a warmer climate like Hammerfell or Elsweyr?”

“You agreed at the time - Skyrim is the backbone of the Empire. The Markarth Incident was absolutely inspired, thank you for that,” he said, smirking at Therion’s glare of loathing. “And you haven’t given my proposal a yes or a no.”

“What, returning to Alinor? With you?” Therion laughed, not taking him seriously. “You just said I was too dangerous. Now you want to hire me back with a raise?”

“I didn’t say there wasn’t a price,” Radac replied, quirking an eyebrow. “Seeing you again… I didn’t realize how lonely life would be, with you in exile. I am alone. I spent entire months without speaking, just to see what would happen,” he said with a sigh. “As you said, everyone fears me. This, is probably the only direct conversation I’ve had in years,” he finished, glancing at the Thalmor soldiers standing out of earshot, the squad flinching under his gaze.

Therion gave him a frigid look.

“If you’re waiting for me to be sympathetic, you have me confused for that lobotomized version of myself you kept enslaved by alchemy for five hellish years. You’re a genocidal lunatic, Radac. You should suffer for your crimes, but you’re immune to pain. You deserve to die, but you’re immortal. If you’re looking to me of all people for comfort, know that I take great joy in your misery,” Therion replied fervently.

After a long pause, Radac nodded.

“Ah, but it’s not a question of how much you hate me, but how badly you miss Alinor. How much you want to see home, just one last time. How many times has the thought crossed your mind?”

He saw Therion’s jaw tick.

“You told me once Alinor was the one thing you truly loved. That you would do anything for our country. How much you must have hated me, when I exiled you,” he said with a sad laugh. “But the only alternative was a death sentence and that, was not an option. I could never kill you, Thrynn.”

“Really? You’re doing a great job of it at the moment,” he replied nodding toward Silgahrot. “Slow and painful.”

“I won’t take your soul. But I need your dragon souls. You won’t agree with the method, but you’re going to ensure the future of our race.”

Therion said nothing, glaring intently.

“Like it or not, the Nords will soon be a memory. The question is, how do you want to spend the rest of your life, once they’re gone? I’ll destroy the rest of the races of men in good order - I have nothing but time on my side, as you well know. You could be there, helping me shape our peoples’ destiny. Or you could spend the rest of your life alone, never again to see the crystal spires of your home. Watching your friends age and die. I don’t recommend it - it takes a heavy toll.”

Therion glanced at Silgahrot, helplessly watching as a fifth orb began taking form within the crystal.

“I can guess what your price is,” Therion said with an angry with a sigh of resignation, amber eyes burning with hatred. "And my answer is no, not that you care."

He watched a slow, sinister smile spread across Radac’s face with disgust.

"Oh Thrynn, how I have missed you," he chuckled. "You know me so well."

Uh oh, I don't like where this is going…

Glad we get to see some of Therion's past though…

Gods, I don't even want to imagine what Radac would do if he knew about Therion's (actual) love for Farengar.

UPDATE PLEAAAASE!!!!!

update your story...I miss youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu!!!

A/N Apologies for its shortness, it took me ages to figure out how I wanted this to go...

-

Sadril was dumped, naked, next to a boiling pool of lava, and the Dunmer rolled away from it faster than he realised was possible. Dirt caked his skin, and he groaned as his sensitive length scraped across the hard ground. The Dunmer stood, gazing at his surroundings with a sense of utter dread. It was hot – too hot, even for him – and the ground beneath him was blackened and burnt, cracked, and heat rose through the gaps in the land. He conjured himself some armour and a weapon, looking warily around him for any enemies. His eyes fell on a figure, huddled by a pool, and he approached, weapon raised. The figure turned. It was an elf, an Altmer, with blond curls springing from beneath a blood red hood. He’d seen that colour before. And the robes he wore…Silus Vesuius had been displaying them at his house in Dawnstar! This was a fabled member of the Mythic Dawn. Gods, even they didn’t deserve eternity in the Deadlands. This was just too harsh.

“Are you dead too?” the Altmer asked. “Yes, yes you are, I feel it.”

“You’re Mythic Dawn,” Sadril stated. “I almost feel sorry for you.”

“Do not pity me,” the High Elf sighed. “I deserve none of it. I helped burn Kvatch to the ground. I killed countless innocents.

“You’ve had about two hundred years to quite literally stew, in the Deadlands,” Sadril drawled. “I’m not wishing that on anyone. I know about the Mythic Dawn. Morrowind got trampled by Daedra. Stop sobbing. What’s your name, Altmer?”

“Eldamil,” the other elf replied uncertainly. “And you?”

“Sadril.”

“You smell a little…odd,” Eldamil said politely.

“I just got dragged out of Sanguine’s realm,” the Dunmer snorted. “I’m rather angry that happened. I was…busy.”

“Mehrunes Dagon finds you important enough to drag from Sanguine?” Eldamil repeated. “Why on Nirn?”

“I accepted his stupid Razor,” Sadril grumbled.

“That’s not reason enough! You must be some kind of powerful mortal for him to want you,” Eldamil argued.

“I may be the Dragonborn,” Sadril admitted in a small voice, shuffling. Eldamil’s mouth dropped open.

“That explains much of his desire for your soul,” the Altmer said weakly.

“FOOL!” a huge voice boomed. “YOU TOOK MY RAZOR AND WIELDED IT AS YOUR OWN. YOUR SOUL BELONGS TO ME, DRAGONBORN! MAY THE SEPTIMS CRY IN DESPAIR.”

“Ah, fuck,” Sadril cursed. “Run, Altmer.”

The elves tore across the landscape as the earth beneath their feet began to shake. Dremora burst from the air around them, and Eldamil’s hands flung out, encasing the creatures in ice. Sadril swung a mace at the statues, shattering them, his own hand filled with healing. The Altmer was longer, nimbler than him, but Sadril had the stamina of a warrior, and as red, burning dust rose beneath their feet, the elves managed to keep pace with each other. There was no sense of a race so much as a fleeting hope that they would be able to outrun Dagon for the briefest of seconds.

Eldamil tripped and Sadril caught him, helping the Altmer stand again as Dremora threw open a nearby tower door and roared in anger. Frost magic shot from the High Elf and they kept going. Something caught Sadril’s eye, a beautifully faceted stone that seemed to glow with its own light. He almost stopped, darting over instead to pick it up. Eldamil created a shield around them, as large as he could make it, laced with frost, as Sadril felt a voice boom in his head, as loud as it had come all those years ago when a blood-soaked Dunmer found it hidden in a chest in a bandit lair.

“Raise my beacon, Champion of Meridia, and I will save you,” it roared.

Sadril raised the beacon high above his head, and the world ripped open next to him, a delicious smell wafting from a glowing hole in Oblivion.

“Hurry!” the voice commanded, and Sadril grabbed Eldamil firmly around the wrist, leaping through the portal before the Altmer could protest.

that's supposed to be 5/14!

can the mods put this on Delicious as 5/14 please?

Another smooth click from an opened adept lock was a sound of triumph to Sapphire's ears. A rarity of an exultant smile graced her frosted berry lips after experiencing unrelenting fiascos of butchered jobs these past months. It seemed that bad luck has finally caught up with her, the "curse" as Delvin ominously states, has officially affected all of the Guild.
Although she cares little for most of her Guild mates, the lone she-wolf could not find it within herself to get up and leave the crumbling organisation that was once fearfully respected has now reduced to being pitiful, openly joked about. After all there was Niruin, Cynric, Brynjolf and, most of all, Delvin; they are the closet thing she has for a family to trust and stand up for, who do so in turn for her. She still grits her teeth whenever she goes near Vex, who bluntly remarked that she was surprised the Nord hadn't ran off like half of the Guild. Damn that icy Imperial bitch.
"Hi Sapphire," A thick, lilted voice addresses her, causing an innocent lock-pick to be snapped mercilessly between tightly curled fingers.
Vipir.
Composing herself for a few moments, Sapphire stands then turns to see her least favourite brother-in-crime, clad in grey leather Guild armour much like herself, casually leaning up against the master chest. Gods, her kinsman's habit of flirting always got on her nerves, still not getting the obvious hint she isn't interested to his smarmy, pathetic self who's desperate for a shag.
"Yes Vipir?" The brunette inquires with faux pleasantness, poorly fluttering her long eyelashes to add an extra layer to her snarky attitude towards the supposed master of pickpocketing. She was prepared for whatever shot the bastard throws.
"Do you have any lockpicks?" He genuinely asks, the irritating grin lessening into that of a soft smile.
Okay. This wasn't what the Nordic beauty expected.
"Sure... Why are you interested in lock picking?" Since you are so terrible at it, she mentally added but kept to herself.
"Because I want to play with your chest~" Was the laden-innuendo response he given her, his silver eyes glint that matches the returning saucy grin plastered on his face.
Instead of a snarky comeback or even a smite of warning, Sapphire retrieves then casually tosses a generous dozen of lock-picks at the startled thief who barely catches all of the tiny, thin sticks of iron. Vipir still looks questioningly at the unexpected tools, turning his bemused gaze to the fellow thief resetting then swaggers off to exit the training room.
"Knock yourself out." She flippantly says over her shoulder, grinning to herself as Vipir stares frustrated after her retreating, voluptuous form.

~*~*~*~

Tags - Sapphire; Vipir the Fleet; Nord; NPCs; flirting; rejection.

Ha!

A/N: So it turns out I've been spelling Alesan's name wrong this whole time. Poor boy.

The giant dropped to the ground with a mighty crash. While the adults milled around it, Alesan looked down at the reins in his hands and wondered whether he could steer the horse down the slope to the stable on his own. He didn't have much time to wonder. A red-haired woman was climbing the hill in his direction. This was not the same woman that his new mother had assigned to bring him home. She was taller and older, and he recognized her as the one he'd first seen attacking the giant, if only by the size of the axe strapped to her back.

"Hello, boy," said the strange woman. "Iona tells me you've come to live here."

He nodded once.

"Good," she said, nodding back. "My name is Uthgerd. I'm the steward here at Heljarchen Hall. Let me take care of the horse. You go on inside and get warm. Someone will be along to show you around."

She reached up and pulled him off the horse before he had the chance to protest that he could do it himself.

"Go on, now," said Uthgerd.

Alesan didn't need to be told twice. It was cold out, and the wind was icy. He was used to the warmth of Windpeak Inn's hearth, or the stifling heat inside the mines. He ran down the slope, rubbing his hands together to thaw them, while Uthgerd called out a warning after him. He wasn't worried. He'd always been a good runner and he could easily dodge any rocks in his path. He didn't slow down until he got close to the body of the dead giant.

A man and a woman were standing over the remains, talking. When the man noticed him, he nudged the woman and gestured towards him with his chin.

The woman raised her voice. "I'm sure you can take care of disposing of this alone, Gregor. I'll let the boy in the house."

She held out her hand to him. "What's your name, boy?"

"Alesan," he said.

"Do you want to see your new room?"

He nodded emphatically and grabbed her hand.

The manor she walked him into was huge. It was the biggest house he'd ever seen. He even thought it might be bigger than the ship his pa worked on, but that was a long time ago, and he couldn't remember it very well. She walked him through a front hall into a much larger, brightly lit room and he looked around at all the stairs and doors, wondering where they led to and how many people lived here. Just then one of the doors opened and another man came through it, followed by the rich intoxicating smell of fresh-baked... something.

"Mjoll! Is the giant dea-- oh." He blinked and stared at him. "Who's this little man?"

He let go of her -- Mjoll's -- hand and walked over, offering his hand to the man. "My name is Alesan. I've come to live here."

The man gravely took his hand and shook it. "Pleased to meet you, Alesan. Have you met your new sister yet?"

"There's a question," said Mjoll. "I hope she stayed inside like I told her to, and didn't run off to play outside with that dog of hers."

"She's in the bedroom," said the man, pointing his spoon across the room at a closed door. "Go say hello."

Alesan turned around and headed towards the bedroom door, trying to count how many new people he'd already met today. He was starting to get a little dizzy, and hoped there weren't very many more of them. It was such a big house. He was sure that anther ten people could sleep in it, probably. For a moment he hesitated with his hand on the door's handle, but there was nothing to be anxious about. Everyone had bee so nice to him, and it would be nice to have a sister. Probably. He pressed down the latch and opened the door.

"Hyaaaa!

Alesan stumbled back and almost tripped. A tiny girl with wild brown hair was waving a wooden sword at him.

"Surrender, brigand! You will never breach Fort Heljarchen!"

"Aaargh!"

He tried stepping backwards carefully until his back hit the big table at the center of the room. The point of her sword was right in his face. True, it was only a wooden practice sword, but for some reason it looked very sharp. He wiped a drop of sweat off his brow.

There was a clattering of pots and pans in the other room before the kitchen door opened again.

"Erith," said the man with the spoon, "are you playing nice?"

The girl hastily pulled back the sword and hid it behind her back.

"I saw that."

"Sorry, Aerin," said Erith, hanging her head and twiddling her foot. "I'll be good."

"Good," said Aerin. "Now that you've met Alesan, you should know he's come to stay with us. He's going to be your brother from now on."

Erith made a twisty face, and he stuck his tongue out at her.

Aerin tsked. "You two, go outside and play while there's still light. Don't stray too far. If you see the Loreius farm, that's too far. And come right back in if you get too cold. And don't be late for dinner. Go on, now."

Erith nodded earnestly. Then she grabbed Alesan's hand and tugged at it. "Let's go! You haven't even met Torom, yet. He's the best dog in the Pale."

Passerby!Anon would love to see this continued, it is a very good story so far.

A!A, please come back to us!
I've just read all of this in a day and am craving the next part!

Cetine cried out when Vilkas pushed all the way in. She felt him lean forward, his chest against her back as he reached around to cover her mouth. She moaned against his hand which caused him to drive into her harder. One hand still gripped her hip as he slammed against her from behind. She squeezed her eyes shut.

Of course they were twins so it was only natural that they’d be the same size, but gods she certainly wasn’t expecting it. She thought Farkas had a rare treat, but she forgot there were two of them.
She could feel his breath against her ear, heavy and hot. His sweaty chest pressed against her back as he pumped himself into her. He removed his hand from her mouth and she bit her lip to keep from crying out.

Farkas’s breath hitched behind them and her eyes shot open. She forgot her husband was in the room. Watching.

Her eyes brimmed with tears, the mix of pleasure, guilt, fear, and humiliation was too much. She glanced back at Farkas as he stroked himself in the chair, watching Vilkas have his way with her.
Vilkas grabbed her hips with both hands and shoved himself so deep she could feel a sharp pain at the pit of her stomach. She cried out in shock, bracing herself, but he stilled. Neither twin moved, and she could only hear Vilkas’s ragged breath.

He slipped out of her, leaving her hollow and empty, her muscles twitching and aching with from his absence.

She felt someone lift her up from the bed from behind, their arms hooked under hers to bring her to her feet. Her back pressed against something warm and bare. Farkas. He cupped her chin from behind, bringing her ear close to his mouth.

“Hush, love,” he whispered against her ear. He moved her hair forward and trailed his lips along her shoulder. Her legs shook and she slumped, but he held her up.

Vilkas stepped in front of her and she instinctively tried to back away, but she was caught between them.

Farkas lifted her leg from behind, his cock prodding between her legs before he slipped into her. She gasped, arching against his chest as he filled the place his brother vacated. He took her wrist and guided her hand to his brother’s cock, still wet from being inside her. She began to stroke him, pulling soft moans from Vilkas with every move.

She felt Farkas’s hand twist in her hair, pushing her mouth against his twin’s as he thrust inside her. She whimpered against Vilkas’s lips while Farkas slapped against her. The longer they kissed, the harder and more fervent Farkas’s thrusting became.

MUST FILL. LIFE CANNOT BE COMPLETE UNTIL THIS PLOT BUNNY LEAVES ME.

I can't believe nobody has filled this! It's such a wonderful prompt T_T. Oh, well, guess I have to know. Hope someone will still read it, haha

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 256 of 270

Meme Announcements!

Re: "Two Down" 8/8

Re: Sharing is Caring (2/?) (Farkas/F!DB/Vilkas)

Re: Fire and Potions - 80/?

Re: Fire and Potions - 80/?

Re: Fire and Potions - 81/?

Re: Fire and Potions - 82/?

Re: Fire and Potions - 83/?

Re: Fire and Potions - 84/?

Re: Fire and Potions - 85/?

Re: Fire and Potions - 86/?

Re: Fire and Potions - 87/?

Re: Fire and Potions - 87/?

Re: Dawning - Part 24/?

Re: Clear Skies 7/7

For Thy Soul 4/14 - Mehrunes Dagon

Re: For Thy Soul 5/14 - Mehrunes Dagon

Sapphire/Vipir the Fleet - The Art of Lockpicking

Re: Sapphire/Vipir the Fleet - The Art of Lockpicking

Hearth and Home (2.1/?) - f!DB/Mjoll and others

Hearth and Home (2.2/?) - f!DB/Mjoll and others

Re: Summer Solstice (3/?)

Re: Fire and Potions - 87/?

Sharing is Caring (4/?) (Farkas/F!DB/Vilkas)

Re: Can´t say no. Housecarl/Thane!DB

Re: Can´t say no. Housecarl/Thane!DB